


Brotherly

by think_ghastly_thoughts_quietly



Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Psychological Horror, Sibling Incest, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2020-07-25 18:40:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 10,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20030509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/think_ghastly_thoughts_quietly/pseuds/think_ghastly_thoughts_quietly
Summary: The sky is clear. The birds are singing. And beneath the shade of her mother’s straw hat, there is a maternal frown meant for her. The camera lowers. “Come now, Laurie. Why don’t you stand closer to your brother?”





	1. July

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This will be a relatively short fic. Nothing too serious. Just a non-serious AU.

Chapter One: July

The sun is ruthless. If Laurie were to touch her head, she’d probably burn her hand, but she doesn’t try it because her hands are occupied, cradling a paper bag. Beside her, a cheap paper fan beats against her mother’s chest spotted with sweat. Mr. Myers treads behind his wife, attention fixed on the ground. 

The family walks through a dirt path, overgrown with weeds that brush Laurie’s ankles.

They are dressed in their finest Sunday clothes, but it isn’t even a Sunday. In fact, it’s a Friday. July the 4th. She promised Annie they’d buy sparklers this afternoon before they’re sold out, but as she glances at her watch the short hand has just passed 2. 

Laurie sighs, and her footsteps begin to scrape the ground, picking up rocks, kicking up dirt. 

“Stop dragging your feet, missy,” her mother chided, then turns her chin over her shoulder and asks, “Honey, how far away is it?” 

“Almost there,” her father replies. Still watching the ground his feet pass over. Still pretending he isn’t actually where he is. These visits have been ongoing for the past thirteen years, but it agonizes her father to walk through here every time. 

A hand grabs Laurie’s shoulder. It’s cool, and it squeezes. Laurie stops and looks at her mother, whose demure smile is forced. Tight. 

“What do we do, Laurie?” she asks lightly, then tight eyes sweep down to the tombstone at their feet.

Wordlessly, she unravels the top of the paper bag and reaches inside. Silky petals kiss her fingertips. Her hands grabs the bouquet, holds it out. If Laurie’s boyfriend displayed these to her a week before prom, she’d probably feel flattered. If Laurie had a boyfriend and if the circumstances were different. These are meant to be presented to someone who’s alive.

Laurie bends down and lays them on the stone. Their colors do it no justice, but as she looks at her parents with their proud, sad smiles, they are fooled into thinking it has. 

But, Laurie knows better.

Their colors do it no justice.

Certainly, not for someone who is dead. 

Her hands trace the letters of the headstone. 

“Happy fourth, Judy.”


	2. August

Chapter Two: August

Laurie lounges on the couch, flicking through the channels on the television. She doesn’t process the images flitting on the screen, but Laurie is bored and while she would rather read a book, she’s already reread through her library and she hasn’t worked up enough baby-sitting money to buy something new, to add to her collection.

“Laurie?”

It’s her father who calls her attention. He enters her peripheral from the kitchen doorway. Her thumb flexes on the remote button and the TV blinks off. What she sees is her bent reflection, her torso draped over the couch’s armrest, the sun seeping through the curtains of the front window standing behind her. 

She rotates her head, without moving her eyes, to acknowledge her father. 

“Yeah?”

He takes a few steps forward. The floorboards creak as he approaches. Her father usually walks with purpose because he’s such a business man. Perception and appearance means everything to him. But, in this moment, with his loosened tie, she perceives him to be frazzled and tired. 

“What’s wrong, daddy?” Laurie is concerned now. She shifts on the couch. Alert. 

“It’s…” His words stall until he is kneeling by the couch and reaching for her hand. As he takes it, there is a degree of fear in his eyes which is contagious. She feels it a bit, and her heartbeat deepens. 

“What?”

“I got a call from Smith’s Grove…”

“What’d they say?”

Her father’s hand grows stiff atop hers. 

“Michael is ready to come home.”


	3. September

Chapter Three: September

Laurie doesn’t understand it.

Why is her mother so excited?

She assumes, at first, that it’s all a ploy. Edith Myers has always been sensitive to the well-being of her family and if the overall mood has a general inclination which upsets her mother, she tends to swing the other way, acting buoyantly to demolish negative emotions. Her mother lives a lie and fights tooth and nail to keep it that way.

But, on the drive here, the woman cries behind the steering wheel with no amount of sorrow. Every bit of joy is seen in her broken, trembling smile, while Laurie fears for her safety in the passenger seat of the car. 

Perhaps, her mother’s behavior is not so unusual. After all, she finally will see her son. After all, it has been years.

As they wait in the common room, Laurie’s skin prickles with goosebumps under her thin white blouse. She unrolls the sleeves which were rolled to her elbows. Though summer was near concluding, it was still uncomfortably hot outside. Here, it was uncomfortably cold. 

A patient escorted by a nurse skulks past in the thin hospital tunic, glaring at Laurie and then her mother who was signing papers at the front desk. Besides the dirty look, he doesn’t say a word and loses interest in them entirely. 

Laurie feels out of place. She is a stranger in this building filled with strangers, though she may have just been the most normal person here. 

Behind her, she hears a hiss of the double doors opening. Her mother makes a small sound of surprise then releases elated utterances which makes Laurie’s stomach quiver with unease.

Her feet move in a circle and stop. 

“Oh Laurie!” Her mother exclaims. “Come, come, come quick!”

An impatient hand gesture pulls Laurie closer, but not too close. It might be that she’s a teenager and everything is awkward at her age, but Laurie can’t help her discomfort from keeping her away from her brother.

With an irritated sigh, her mother grabs Laurie’s shoulder and her mouth draws close to Laurie’s ear and whispers.

“Show your brother how much you’ve missed him.”

Her feet are lead, but her mother has surprising strength as she pulls Laurie. Once a few steps away, she gives Laurie a firm push in which she shuffles forward.

Laurie’s breath hitches as she sees him, the closest she’s ever seen him. 

“What do we do, Laurie?” Her mother asks lightly, but there is an odd forcefulness in the lilt of her question. 

Laurie swallows and she does a poor job of concealing the sound. She is certain her brother hears it, but he gives no indication. He only looks at her. Straight at her. 

As she steps in, Laurie notes his eyes are black. Endlessly black. Not even the graces of the sun could think to penetrate it. 

Afraid her mother might act or say something inappropriate to embarrass her, Laurie leans forward and her arms move around his broad shoulders as though her joints were rusted metal hinges. Their height difference forces Laurie to her tiptoes. It’s too late for her to think against it, when her lips ghost over the smooth slope of his cheek which smells heavily of antiseptic.

As she pulls back, Michael’s face has not changed. He is still jarringly impassive and he still stares at her. 

As her mother fawns over her children, Laurie finds she is mistaken. 

Her brother is looking through her.


	4. September

Chapter Four: September

Cooking with her mother used to be fun, until Michael moved in. 

“Laurie, you make sure you dice those carrots, like how the hospital does it.”

“No. No. A little less salt. It’ll be bad for him—”

“These can go to Michael; how about you take the burnt ones to school? I’m sure your friends won’t know the difference—”

Laurie lays the knife on the chopping board and turns to her mother.

“Can I make the mashed potatoes tonight?”

Her mother smiles. 

“No.”

Laurie’s shoulders sink.

“Why not?”

“Honey, you’ll never get better at cooking if you only do the tasks you feel comfortable with.”

It was a reasonable excuse until...

“Besides...” Her mother turns on the faucet, filling a pot. “When I’m not here, I want you to be able to cook Michael whatever he wants.”

It’s a struggle to not roll her eyes, but Laurie succeeds and takes out the spices she intends to dress the steak with. 

“How can I know what he wants, if he doesn’t even talk?”

It sounded nicer in her head, but her mother’s gaze sharpens.

“Don’t be rude, Laurie.”

And Laurie ducks her head in shame. 

XXX

Every night has been a feast made in his honor, and the man of the hour has not once come down from his throne on the second floor to join them for dinner. 

Though, no one made any mention of it. Not her father. And certainly not her mother. The latter was to be expected. Not the former.

The newspaper sits in her father’s hand but she doubts he retains anything in the print as he chews his food. She could bet Michael’s absence has been on his mind too. 

“Laurie,” her father said. 

Laurie’s jaw clacks shut. She sets down her fork and watches him shoot her mother a knowing glance over the top of his glasses. 

“We’re going to visit Grandpa and Grandma this weekend.”

Next to him, her mother nods as confirmation. 

Laurie blinks. “Okay. I’ll just tell Annie I’ve gotta raincheck.”

Her mother’s face brightens with approval as she brings a glass of water up to her lips. Laurie feels proud of herself for being agreeable to her parent’s sudden change of plans. Goes to show, she’s more mature than they thought. And it would be good to see Papa Myers again; last she did he was very ill — as such were the inevitabilities of old age. 

“Good girl, Laurie,” her mother says, lowering her cup, “I already know you’ll take good care of your brother while we’re gone.”

Laurie forgets to chew and simultaneously forgets to work the muscles in her throat to swallow as well. She swipes the napkin off the table and coughs violently into it. By the time she finishes, her eyes are red from her choking fit and her father looks at her questionably.

“That’s why we chew, kiddo,” he says.

Laurie doesn’t finish the rest of her meal and excuses herself with a mutter. All she thinks as she washes her dishes and climbs up to her room is that she’d rather babysit actual children, than a grown man.

XXX

As Laurie stirs from a disturbing dream, her head lifts up from her pillow and her breath halts at the top of her lungs when she hears the sound of a creaking floorboard peeling down the hall. She doesn’t think much of it. Instead, her tongue presses against her dry palate and Laurie decides she’s too thirsty to go back to sleep. 

Her nightgown sways at her knees. Her shoulders are hunched forward. She walks with all the deliberation of a sleepwalker from the bed to the hallway, squinting at the drastic change of light. 

When she approaches the top of the staircase, Lauries hears the unrelaxed voices trickle to her ears. Recognizing those sinking notes to belong to her parents, she strains to pick up the pieces of their conversation, though only discerns phrases like “still can’t talk”, “nice for Dr. Wynn to”, and “we have our son back, don’t we?”.

Not in any mood to face the awkwardness that would come from disturbing them, Laurie figures the water from the bathroom sink will do, and she turns, bumping into a firm mass that isn’t the wall. She gasps sharply, arms come up to her chest defensively. Her heart could belong to a rabbit by how quickly it is pulsing, but the moment her heartbeats peak as she overcomes the shock, Laurie frowns.

Her brother stands to the side of the staircase, hidden by the shadow the corner makes. She is disappointed that someone his size could so easily sneak up on her. Laurie looks up into her brother’s eyes and stiffens. 

He has been home for a week and since then he has acted no different from the patient she and her mother picked up from Smith’s Grove. Listless. Thoughtless. Behaving like a machine. Eating when he needs to. Shuffling to the bathroom when he needs to. The only person who has entered his room situated next door to Laurie’s, is their mother and even then, when Laurie presses her ear against the wall to eavesdrop, it is only her mother’s voice she hears. Michael has not shown any signs indicative of consciousness.

Until now…

He stares at her and though there is nothing else telling on his face, his eyes are as serious as a thousand deaths. Ever as black. Ever as cold. 

He is glaring at her. 

And Laurie doesn’t know what had made her so deserving of such hatred. Though it wounds, she refuses to let it make her feel bitter. 

Dismissing his glare, she navigates around him to the bathroom, fetches a cup in the cabinet and runs the sink until water fills to the rim. As she drinks, she watches her reflection in the mirror and then on the edge of it, sees Michael with his blank face. Everything about her brother is darker. His skin is tanner. His wavy hair is a muddy blonde almost brown. And his eyes are not the blue hue of their father or their mother. 

“You just gonna stand there?” Laurie whispers testily. 

Naturally, Michael says nothing. 

She shuts off the faucet and places the cup in the corner. 

Laurie is stepping out of the bathroom when Michael blocks her way. 

It’s her mother in her head telling her not to be rude, and Laurie feels indignant that such an accusation would be directed at her. If anything, her brother has been rude the entirety of his stay. Here, he was with family, people who accepted him into their home when the whole town still looked at him warily for that night which after a decade and three years has turned into a stale memory. Still, he does a piss poor job of showing gratitude. To her father. To her mother. To her.

But, Laurie has never been so good at projecting her anger. She’s always been told to keep it in. Bullies were spurred on by getting a rise out of people. But, a smart person would stay civil. If she held true to this, Michael couldn’t win.

“Please move, Michael, I would like to go back to bed.” She tries to use that sweetly pleasant tone that she uses on all her school teachers— the one she adopted from Lynda freshman year that’s worked to wriggle her friend out of every detention. 

From the corner of her eye, a blur of Michael’s hand flew up to which Laurie flinched. 

As his large palm molds to the side of her neck, she sees the flex in his forearm. She doesn’t doubt he feels her shiver. While her mind struggles to more or less get over the surprise of his action, Michael pulls her into the hallway and releases her with a firm push in the direction of her room. 

The fact that he uses his stature to threaten her leaves Laurie more angry than scared and she quickly recovers. But, as she marches to her brother, Michael slips into the bathroom and slams the door in her face. 

This time, she doesn’t care to keep quiet. Laurie releases a growl and pounds the door with her fist. 

“You jerk!”

One floor below her, in the living room, Laurie and Michael’s parents stop talking and wonder what in the world their children are up to.


	5. September

Chapter Five: September

It’s Lynda who comes over to the house in the afternoon, angry. 

And Laurie becomes a willing victim.

As she dices vegetables for the stew whose broth simmers in a pot on the gas-stove Lynda complains about her boyfriend over a cause long lost. Still, Laurie listens all the same. By the time a ladle dips into the stew and pours its contents into a bowl, Lynda is distracted from her tirade.

“That... smells great,” Lynda says, prettily impressed. 

Laurie smiles, pleased that someone would think so. 

“Dinner for...?” Lynda asks as Laurie puts a spoon in the bowl and leaves it on the corner of the kitchen counter. 

Her friend never finishes her question because the answer enters the kitchen in a plaid shirt and long khakis (courtesy of their mother’s taste which decided that her son looked much better in loosely fit clothes like the hospital tunics uniformed at Smith’s Grove). His back ramrod straight and his gaze perpetually set beyond the walls. 

He takes the bowl and heads back upstairs. 

In his brief passing, the kitchen had felt much colder to Laurie and the goosebumps on her skin are just now falling. 

Once she is certain she hears his bedroom door close, Laurie rubs her hands down her face and groans. 

Lynda puckers her lips in thought. Her hooded eyes are turned in the direction Michael disappeared and she bites her lip.

Laurie sees that look.

“You can’t— be— serious.” Each word is punctuated with disbelief. 

“Don’t think so?” Lynda blinks, shameless in her desires.

The corners of her mouth downturn in a moment of unpractised disgust. Laurie scoffs.

“He’s my brother.”

Lynda shrugs. “Hey, if it doesn’t work out with that loser, mind if I come over tomorrow night since mommy and daddy are gone?”

Laurie almost bore an expression of horror to which Lynda laughs giddily. 

“Not that I need your permission,” Lynda says, twirling a pigtail draped over one shoulder. “Just your blessing.”

Laurie rolls her eyes and turns off the stove. “You know what? Maybe, you two would be good for eachother. He doesn’t say a word and you...well, you could do all the talking for him.”

“Really?”

Laurie has never looked so solemn. “No. For once, could you please have something on your mind other than...that?”

“Like what?” Lynda asks, then her eyes narrow mischievously. “Like...Ben Tramer?”

Very quickly, her brother’s image flees from her mind and Laurie pales. Lynda gauges her reaction and becomes emboldened in her teasings.

“The handsome…” Lynda began with a mock-swoon, “Athletic— takes up seventy-five percent of the pages of your diary— Benjamin Tramer?!” 

When Lynda moaned, Laurie’s face fell into her open palms to hide the tomato blush coloring her cheeks. 

XXX

By dusk, Lynda is gone.

Laurie is left cleaning the mess of her visit. 

An empty bag of chips on the ground. Kernels of popcorn scattered the floor. The pillows smashed on the couch. She contemplates vacuuming, but reminds herself that her parents won’t be home until Sunday night. Her mother might live by the rule that a clean home is a happy home. But, Laurie’s life doesn’t hinge on it. So, she sweeps instead. 

When the first floor is decently tidy, perhaps, not to the impossible standards of her mother, Laurie moves onto dishes. It’s when she is in the middle of rinsing the kitchen knife, does Laurie remember... 

It’ll probably stay up in his room until her mother comes home. But, by the time that happens, the broth would’ve been crusted to the sides and become impossible to clean. 

Laurie sighs and shuts off the sink. As she wipes her hands on her jeans, she is climbing the staircase to Michael’s room, finding that his door is left ajar. Inside, the lights are off.

Before Michael, this bedroom used to be for guests, namely for their relatives when they visited from the city to quaint Haddonfield. Before them, this room belonged to someone Laurie believes never existed because six year old Michael Myers is but a legend, no matter how much her mother might think it to be true. 

The thought that he may be sleeping doesn’t hinder her. She knocks on the door which pushes inwards under the pressure of her touch. 

“Michael?” 

His name trails an echo down to the first floor, but receives no acknowledgement. She hoped to draw him from slumber, so as not to surprise him when she entered his room, but at this point Laurie doesn’t care about boundaries or privacy. 

Don’t be rude, Laurie. 

Her first couple steps are confident. Her last are hesitant. 

The bed is not made. But, is not slept in either. The blankets are not pulled out. The pillows are fluffed not flattened. However, with the light coming in from the hallway, Laurie barely sees the imprint on the sheets as though someone has sat on the edge. 

On the waist high dresser, she spots the empty bowl, the silver handle of the spoon sticks out. She turns around, one circle, eyes scanning warily for her brother. She half expects him to be watching her from a corner in the room. Paranoia gets the best of her as she goes to the sliding door closet, opens it and peers inside, but finds nothing. 

As she strides over the bowl and collects it in her stiff fingers, Laurie concludes Michael is gone. 

She gasps when the tingy ring of the phone cries from the kitchen downstairs. Laurie scowls marches down the stairs, runs the sink and places the bowl at the bottom of the basin. She takes her time, but whoever calls her is persistent. 

Finally, Laurie strides over to the phone and answers. 

“Hello?”

“Laurie! My god! Laurie,” Annie sobs.

“Ann? What’s— What’s wrong?”

“I— I called my dad. He’s on his way right now…”

“What for?”

“I…”

Annie doesn’t continue. Her sentence shatters into a hundred of her cries and though she is primarily concerned, Laurie is secondarily frustrated. 

“Annie, please, it’s going to be okay. Tell me what happened?”

There is a sharp intake of breath on the other end. Then, it becomes fearfully quiet. 

Laurie waits. 

And then she hears a scream through the receiver which pierces her eardrum.

No matter how many times she calls her friend’s name, there is no response. 

Shortly, the call ends on Annie’s side.


	6. September

Laurie is not okay. She tries to console herself. In the end, she dissolves into a blubbering mess. She’s fearful of her friend’s life. 

Police Police. Call the police. I need to— I need to— 

Her hand slams the receiver into the cradle, but before she can start the call, the phone shatters her concentration. She picks it up and on the other end Annie’s laughter is hysterical. 

Laurie flushes with anger, quick and quiet. 

Surprisingly, she banishes the quiver creeping into her voice. 

“It’s not funny, Annie.”

“I thought it was priceless,” Annie says breathlessly. “Were you scared?”

Laurie withholds the urge to scream though it takes much of her resolve.

“No,” she lies.

But, Annie knows better and Laurie knows that too. 

“Alright.” Laurie says tired, weary— what one would sound like when they’re quite fed up with their friend’s cruel antics, “Can you hang up now? I have to check up on Michael.”

“C’mon Laurie,” Annie assuages with an arc in her voice. “Please don’t be angry.”

“I’m not.” The lie doesn’t sound any more convincing, but Laurie insists on keeping up the facade. “I really have to. I can’t seem to find him anywhere in the house.”

“Ugh, seriously...isn’t he like, older than us?” Annie sighs. “Why’d your folks tell you you have to take care of him?”

Laurie doesn’t feel like explaining much to Annie. She’s not in the mood. In fact, she’d rather just give her the silent treatment, until she can get over the harmless joke or until she hears an apology. But, Annie is insistent and Laurie is easily forgiving, and it’s become second nature for her to recite her brother’s situation to others as her parents scripted to her.

“Because…Ever since he was six, he’s been in Smith’s Grove.” Laurie says, and her chest becomes tight, because she can’t help the pang of sympathy she has for Michael. The trauma he sustained from that night so long ago. What a haze. “He can’t really seem to...function after all that lost time.”

“What for?”

“He was…” Usually, people don’t ask for further explanation, but Annie’s curiosity forces from Laurie an impromptu. “...Traumatized...and he needed therapy.” She hopes there was a telling in her voice, because she can’t bear to tell Annie the story without the guarantee of nightmares later tonight. 

“Oh…” Annie replies, “Well, then I’ll let you go. Hey, mind if we hang out tomorrow?”

Laurie is relieved that Annie has dropped the matter. The Bracketts moved in several years after the incident. Of course, her friend wouldn’t know. Not many new families in Haddonfield do. The town keeps it under wraps. Some dark histories are better laid to rest when forgotten.

“I don’t know.” 

If her mother discovers she left Michael unattended...

“You can bring your brother if it makes you feel better.”

“Yeah? And what is he going to do?”

“I don’t know.” She imagines Annie has shrugged. “By him a hotdog or something while we go shop for a homecoming dress. ”

Laurie suspects this is Annie’s way of apologizing for the earlier call, but she’d much rather prefer a straightforward admission of fault. But, that’s not Annie and it would be asking for too much. So, Laurie acquiesces and hangs up in the middle of Annie saying “Goodnight.”

She holds her head in her hands. Takes a moment to compose. Thinks. And then, worries. She scours upstairs again, calls for Michael. After every recitation of his name, hesitation trickles onto her chords, and it’s clear if it isn’t on her face that the panic is settling in, laying its foundation brick by brick. 

That’s when she stills as she comes down the staircase. Spots the shape in the gloom of the living room. Seated at the couch.

Then, she sighs. 

“Michael,” she says approaching him.

Once she is close enough, she sits beside him, thigh to thigh. He doesn’t give an acknowledgement of her presence and Laurie feels sad. Incredibly so. Because when her mother had told her when she was very young that she had a brother, Laurie imagined someone else. Someone who could fill the lonely moments in her life with his warm presence. But, Michael is all cold though he may be living. 

And, Laurie thinks of his captivity at Smith’s Grove. Could someone like that, looked at all his life by clinical stares from nurses and wardens and doctors, develop the same kind of warmth Laurie yearned?

Perhaps, she’s being selfish. Perhaps, he needs her. Not the other way around. Is that what her mother was trying to convey? Maybe, God sent him to her as a test on her character.

Not to just provide him with the necessities of physical nourishment, but to provide those that were denied to him within his concrete cell.

Laurie reaches out and smoothes her hand down his arm.

He is very much a warm body.

And, she is content Michael does not recoil from her touch.

Laurie looks at the side of his face, the angular corner of his jaw which is clenched tight, and whispers:

“Where do you go in that head of yours?”


	7. September

The transition between seasons are always calm in Haddonfield. Today, the sun is gentle. The wind smells sweet. Children are scattered throughout the park. Some dip their tiny feet into the lake. Their laughter ring like bells. Melodic and innocent. 

All while Laurie cries on the park bench with her brother on one side and Annie on the other; they never end up shopping or getting that hotdog for Michael. 

Though Michael’s face reveals nothing, Annie rubs her hand up and down Laurie’s back, knowing all too well how much this means to her and how it might be a stab through her own heart.

“H-how?” Laurie blubbers.

Annie looks down at the grass tickling her sandaled feet. 

“Engine fire,” Annie murmurs. “My dad‘s been gone all morning trying to figure out how it happened. Something about a damaged spark plug.”

Laurie’s face falls to her hands as she leans forward and balls. No one is around to judge her. And Annie is understanding and Michael probably doesn’t know anything. 

But, all the understanding in the world doesn’t make Laurie feel any better.

“The Tramers are thinking of holding the funeral next month,” Annie says.

Laurie cries harder while the breeze picks up and blows through their hair. 

XXX

Once they return home and Annie has left, Laurie fixes dinner for her brother, but has a hard time trying to find the kitchen knife. She wants to make him something with plenty of vegetables because she can’t stomach the idea of handling meat without feeling sick to her stomach. 

In the end, she never finds it and uses a smaller blade instead. As a result, cooking takes a little longer, but the meal is ready by seven and after she readies his plate. She doesn’t wait for him to collect it. Only drags herself upstairs and falls into her bed in her dark room and thinks to cry but is incapable of shedding the tears from the well of her heart that has dried up. 

Her body is exhausted and she begs for sleep, but her mind is haunted with daydreams and polite smiles and “Hey, Ben, how are you?”s and the cheery “I’m doing great Laurie!”s bordered by cheeky laughs and twinkling eyes and every so often a rising blush which doesn’t go away until third period. 

Hunger was gnawing at her earlier today but after discovering Ben Tramer’s death, the emptiness in her gut is a good distraction from the hole in her heart. 

The clock on her bedside reads eleven, when Laurie decides thinking like this is unhealthy. Annie had told her to try to get sleep, take a break, and unwind. School and stress are only enablers to worsening the situation and she’d said that Ben Tramer was seeing someone else at the time, like that would lighten Laurie’s devastation. It made her less inclined to have Annie present as she mourns but it’s not like Lynda could provide any solace. She hadn’t bothered to call Laurie once or visit. 

But, Laurie’s not mad at her for that. She’s really not mad at anyone.

Accidents always happened. And the only person she could blame is fate and maybe God, but Laurie doesn’t. It’s silly to think such things. 

All she could really do is wade in her grief and maybe write this in her diary. 

With all the speed of a slug, she reaches over to her lamp and turns it on. It flickers and drowns her face in soft yellow light. When she shuffles to her desk, Laurie is struck with mild surprise. Sitting open, with a crease in the page, her scrawl stares back at her. The date written on the corner is one she distinctly remembers and never forgets because she occasionally comes back and reads through it.

_“Dear Diary,_

_All the girls love him. Every morning he’s lost in the crazy horde which jams up the hallways. I never make it to first period on time because it’s either the football team or the cheerleading squad I need to elbow my way through and am elbowed back. But, today, Troy Capper was being incredibly rough and my books fell to the floor. My face might have been flaming as bright as a tomato on fire and I could hear Tracy Dacke laughing under her breath while I tried to crouch down and pick them up. With my luck, Billy Haring stepped on my notebook, and I was trying to do my best to not be stepped on as well. That’s when I saw a pair of feet stop in front of me, pushing Billy off to the side as someone picked up my homework. Could you believe it? I couldn’t. _

_He’s really handsome holding out my notebook like that._

_I think I know why all the girls love him now.” _

Laurie knows exactly why she feels angry in that moment, and if she weren’t in the state she was in, maybe she would’ve thought twice about her actions and wouldn’t have barged into Michael’s room, to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, staring blankly through the window.

And while she tries to get his attention in a voice that’s louder than conversatorial, her hand grabs his shoulder and that’s when she realizes she’s made her grave mistake.

As her breath leaves her lungs, Laurie slams into the mattress and the sheets which smell like they belong in the hospital. 

Danger drums its warning beat in her chest as she looks into the dark eyes of her brother whose body traps her beneath him.


	8. September

Chapter Eight: September

To initially think she had been depleted of all her tears, Laurie cannot help the ones which streak from the corners of her eyes. 

Her brother is a massive brute. Taller. Stronger. Quicker. All reminders of what he could have become had he not been secluded to Smiths Grove. An athlete maybe. Like Ben Tramer. With darker hair and the darkest eyes. And whenever the girls would attempt to grab his attention he would have for them a withering stare like the one he gives Laurie. 

"Michael…" she says, her voice wavering. "You cannot— y-you absolutely cannot come into my room like that."

Naturally, expectedly, Michael says nothing. Nothing to offer her. No justification or defense upon his person. He is neither indignant nor sympathetic to her qualms. And Laurie's temper flares, the tears ever more present, the muffled sob withheld by her lips growing louder. 

For a moment she thinks to hate him. For his indifference and for his inability to show compassion to her in her misery. 

Why can’t he? Why shouldn’t he? Why does he have the privilege of emotional invulnerability? 

Because everyone should feel bad for Michael because he can’t talk? Because he can’t function? Because he was once accused of killing his sister? Her sister.

Oh, but of course, Laurie wouldn’t know what he must have gone through. She was only two at the time, and Michael was six and six year olds certainly have a far better grasp of death and murder than a toddler would. 

But, Judith was hers too. 

Why was he only entitled to the trauma imparted by her violent passing?

“I…”

There are so many thoughts in her head, all driven by a high, uncontrolled degree of emotionality, but Laurie voices none of them. Instead, all she can say is…

“It’s my room…” she bleats.

Michael wouldn’t understand anything else. Her pain. Her feelings. Those are all too complicated and beyond his mental reach.

“Can’t you understand that?” Can’t you understand me, Michael? The way I do you?

She doesn’t know why she even bothers to speak to him. He never answers. Stupid, stupid, Laurie. Don’t you ever give up?

Is this how she imagines the rest of her life? Take care of her incompetent brother, until she is old and haggard as he, who will never recognize that she’s his sister— 

Laurie’s sobs are suddenly reduced to sniffles as the shock of Michael’s hand warm on her cheek quiets her. She can feel his thumb stroking over a patch of skin, the repetitive motion is its own calm to her storm. 

And then, Michael withdraws. Assumes his position on the edge of the bed stares out at the pale sickle of the moon as Laurie is sprawled on her back, with her hand over her cheek as a way to protect the linger of her brother’s touch.


	9. September

When their parents returned home, life resumed with placated normalcy. Back to the days where her mother would fuss over Michael, her father would come home late from work, and Laurie did what Laurie always did best, 

Blend into the wallpaper. Unheard. Unseen.

Laurie never broached the subject of Ben Tramer’s death to her parents. They weren’t so nosy as to have been interested in some high schooler’s fickle infatuations. It’s only been Michael lately. And it seems it’ll always be Michael first. After all, she was the second child (the third actually). No one cared about what Laurie may have really been feeling. Not Annie, and not Lynda, who’d called on Sunday, mustered her best concerned tone, and muttered how it was such a shame that Ben wasn’t a brunette. 

But, that’s because Laurie had never told anyone. She’d convinced herself it’d be better to move on like everyone else. It’s the only option for someone like her, who still lives while Ben Tramer is dead. The latter will never change. And the former isn’t ready. 

And though the days roll by, on a Friday afternoon when she finished all her homework, Laurie finally broke down again. Her mother and father went out to dinner and the theatre and wouldn’t be back until 9 when their movie ended. There wasn’t a person who she could flee for comfort, but she thought herself a little stronger for being able to bear the brunt of her agony alone.

So, even though her tears may have been falling onto the minced garlic on the chopping board, her grip is still so firm around the knife, that when her vision finally blurs , the blade slips and slices into the side of her forefinger. 

And though, Laurie is unsettled and startled, her blood drains onto the wood, and there's some relief she feels at the loss. 

Then, a hand closes over her wrist.

And at once, Laurie jolts into a defensive panic and her elbow thrusts back into his ribs and she hears his groan and all Laurie thinks as her brother yanks her in the direction of the sink, runs the water and holds her hand under the lukewarm stream which falls pink into the basin is that Michael doesn’t smell like a hospital now. 

She thinks she had made this realization several days ago when she saw him come out of the shower with his hair dripping wet onto his nightshirt, but had never given the observation a second thought. 

What Laurie feels is her brother against her back, with his arm extending out to hold hers still.   
Is this what Ben would’ve felt like? As though she’s leaning against the oak tree in their backyard reminiscent of memories from her childhood. The good ones. The ones where her father were there. The ones where her mother would brush her hair. The ones where Lynda and Annie weren’t hyperaware of their sexuality and those of the sweaty boys in highschool.

Laurie misses those times. 

When the water shuts off, it doesn’t occur to her the same hand that was around her wrist is now around her jaw. A slight pressure tilts her head back and Laurie finds Michael’s face bent over hers. 

And nothing crosses her mind. For once, her thoughts are asleep. And she believes herself to be at peace.

Until Michael steps back and leaves the kitchen, does Laurie realize she has forgiven him.


	10. September

When she came down to the kitchen the following morning, it was her mother who told Laurie that her father had gone away. Ten years ago, Laurie would’ve been hurt that her father hadn’t kissed her goodbye, but years of his unpredictable leaves have conditioned Laurie from feeling disappointment. Too much of it, at least.

In his absence, Laurie often found herself in her father’s study, sitting at his polished redwood desk. She had first sat there when her toes could barely touch the ground. Now she sits there, bare feet planted firmly, her arms folded, a cushion for her head. 

The dying sun imparts the last of its warmth onto her back when her mother marches into the room, awakening Laurie. 

“Wake up, young lady.”

Laurie lifts her head and rubs her eyes. 

“Yeah?” she mumbles.

Her vision sharpens on the garment her mother drapes over the desk.

Her mother smoothes the front of a peach colored dress, pats down the decorative lace of its sleeves, as she scolds Laurie.

“You didn’t tell me homecoming was this Friday.”

Laurie can’t fathom the sigh which brims her mother’s curt tone. What had she done now? Which one of her friends had she bullied that information out of?

“I don’t see why. I wasn’t planning on going.”

Her mother becomes cross and her hands linger on the dress. “Well, why not?”

“I—…”

Laurie’s words stall in her throat as a swell of emotion threatens to rise in her chest. Things had never been the same when her father began to be called away from home more frequently. Certainly, no one could blame him who works to sustain his family. That, Laurie could understand. But, her mother seemed drained of her happiness for every day he was gone. And those days put the greatest strain on Laurie’s relationship with her. 

And it’s for this reason, Laurie had never felt comfortable enough to tell her about Ben Tramer. How she had loved him since she was in eighth grade. How she had wanted him to ask her to the homecoming dance. How it would always be him and only his arm she’d let guide her through the gymnasium in her evening dress.

So, Laurie responds and says, “There’s no one who could take me.”

An answer more true to Laurie than her mother could ever understand. 

But, her mother laughs, a tad sarcastically (or maybe Laurie was imagining it) and says, “Oh, don’t be silly—”

Laurie visibly stiffens.

Her mother continues without pause. “ — You would waste this opportunity to wear this beautiful dress I’ve kept for you? Laurie, how could you do this to your mother? Is this how I raised you?”

Laurie is obligated to feel guilty, even if such guilt doesn’t come easy to her after her mother’s rebuke. 

“I’m sorry, mama.” Laurie stares at her arms, folded atop the table. “I’ll go.”

Because she’ll do anything for her mother.  
If it means Laurie gets her to smile. 

And smile her mother does, and the happiness sheds back many years from the woman’s face. Many years flavored with a lie that both Laurie and her mother tell themselves when Mr. Myers is away.

It’s for his work, they both say.

A lie her mother convinces herself to be true when she is trying to clean off the smear of lipstick on one of his favorite collared shirts. 

“That’s my girl.”

Laurie watches her mother take the dress away and as she leaves the room suggests,

“Perhaps, your brother can drive you since you can’t.”

“Drive?”

Her mother stops in the doorway and looks over her shoulder. 

“Yes. Your brother knows how to drive Laurie. Dr. Wynn gave him driving lessons for good behavior.”


	11. September

It is ever so perplexing to dwell on the things which might have ever been, but Laurie espies the stranger in the mirror, and wonders if she could ever measure up to Judith. 

It may have been thirteen years ago, but her sister’s beauty remains an ageless memory. Laurie had come across a family photo, framed, and sitting on the third shelf of the living room bookcase when she was five. Judith, her hair a golden wheat field, Bette Davis eyes, had her hand on Michael’s shoulder, the believably innocent boy, whose older version of himself is now a hardened, emotionless shell. Five year old Laurie didn't know who the boy was, until her mother told her two years later on a Halloween night that she’d had two elder siblings. One that was dead. And another that wasn’t better off. 

But, oh, Judith was pretty. 

As Laurie walks past it, the picture is gone and she thinks her memory must be failing her, because she swore she’d seen it last week on her way out to school, but maybe her mother had moved it elsewhere, or maybe it was never there to begin with. 

Her dress sways with every step drawing closer to the front door. Her mother opens it before Laurie’s hand reaches the handle.

“Oh my!” Her mother exclaims.

Laurie blushes instantly as she is dragged out by her hand to the front yard. Her mother heckles her into taking a picture, but as absurd as it may seem to Laurie, she thinks to have her image captured, so that she may be as ageless as Judith. Golden wheat fields. Bette Davis eyes. But not quite so.

When her mother disappears into the house in search of a camera, Laurie hears a yell and spins around to a child whose ball is rolling towards her. She picks it up before it comes to a stop and looks at the little boy across the street. His hands shield the sun from his eyes and he asks for the ball back.

Laurie prepares to throw it when she hears the door open then close.

As she throws the ball, the boy goes solemn, his young face drains of color, but Laurie doesn’t see this. She only sees the child visibly stiffen before he sprints in the opposite direction back into his house. 

The ball lands where he had stood. 

Laurie expects her mother to be standing on the porch with the camera when she turns around.

But Laurie is wrong and her heart experiences a shudder, as though it can feel fear.

His bare feet flattens the grass from where he stands. The sun is on his back and his shadow stretches towards her. Laurie gulps, skin tingling, a shiver shakes her bones. Her dress is the object of his attention. Her brother doesn’t bother to lift his gaze from her midsection. 

“Ah! There you two are!”

Her mother comes barrelling down the porch steps. 

“I am not letting you go until you get your picture.”

Awkwardly, Laurie stands, her hands clasped in front of her, her gaze, hooded. She focuses on everything but the camera.

The sky is clear. The birds are singing. And beneath the shade of her mother's straw hat, there is a maternal frown meant for her. The camera lowers.

"Come now, Laurie. Why don't you stand closer to your brother?"

Laurie hardly reacts fast enough to feel his palm mold over her shoulder. Like that she is lured into her brother’s warm side and when she looks at Michael, he doesn’t give her the time of day. His eyes are angled to the ground. 

“Smile!”

Laurie looks up in time before the flash of a camera burns into her retina. 

She doesn’t see her mother’s appraising smile as she looks at her children through the lens of the camera.


	12. September

Laurie’s hand fiddles with the hem of the dress. The main strip scrolls past the passenger window. A patrol car passes them and Laurie thinks she may have seen Sheriff Bracket driving it and Annie in the backseat. 

Her breath fogs up the glass that holds the reflection of her brother. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. 

Laurie doesn’t think to turn her head. But, he must know he was being watched. Hadn’t he been watched all his life? Shouldn’t the feeling of scrutiny be as easy to him as breathing?

When the car comes to a stop in front of her school, Laurie collects the purse held between her feet, reaches into the bag and pulls out the lipstick. It’s her mother’s, the deepest shade of red, and as she applies it to her lips, there is movement in the corner of her vision. 

She flinches when Lynda knocks on the window.

“Hurry up, loser!”

In her clutch is the hand of her newest toy, Joey McKeirnan. A year younger than them, but the smartest in their class. Laurie can tell there’s alot going for him. Good grades. Plenty of allowance. Teacher’s pet. Too bad— really — that Lynda got to him first. 

But, so what?

What’s it to Laurie if her breasts aren’t as big?

Or if her hair isn’t as shiny?

Or if her knees weren’t as knobby? 

Her mother always said puberty was a cruel transition to adulthood. Laurie will grow out of it one day. 

Lynda drags Laurie out of the car before she can cap the lipstick which presses against her chest, misses the fabric and falls forgotten in the console in the front seat.

“Oh no!” Lynda exclaims, her brow momentarily creases. “Sorry.”

But she doesn’t look regretful. Lynda only turns away with Joey, whips him around so fast his head is the last thing to turn. They briskly walk away and Laurie scrambles to grab her things out of the front seat. 

Michael’s hand reaches towards her chest, and Laurie instinctively freezes. She stares at him, staring at her chest. His thumb rubs into her sternum, smearing the lipstick.

More red. A crimson streak on her skin. 

Part of her wishes the dress didn’t have such a stooping neck. She wishes it covered more skin. Certainly, she wouldn’t feel as exposed. 

When her brother pulls his hand back and replaces it on the steering wheel, Laurie knows he’s waiting for her to close the door. 

With paint stained lips pursed into a thin frown, she does. 

And the family Volkswagon pulls away. 

She can’t tell if her brother watches her using the rearview mirror. Laurie doesn’t know the feeling of being watched very well.


	13. September

It’s the typical homecoming. The gymnasium is a glittery shindig. The lighting initially gives the room a red tint, until her eyes adjust and it cools to a warm pink. All the fun cutouts hanging from the ceiling almost distract from that permanent scent of a mother’s old perfume clinging to the breasts of some Junior whose date is probably sweating from every clogged up pore on his face because no one has bothered to open a window. 

Balloons of the highschool colors are strewn across the floor and kicked into the corners because people had become fed up with tripping over a few of them. A few unlucky teachers huddle near the folded up bleachers, because they don’t really want to spend their Friday night watching kids that aren’t their own. 

It was around nine when Lynda got a little handsy with Joey on the dancefloor. A couple boys elbowed poor him when Lynda wasn’t looking. Every athlete or bully that’s ever had a crush on his date suddenly has something against him — because how does Joey McKiernan land a catch like that? But, Laurie who stands near the punchbowl with a cup hanging from her hand, knows Joey doesn’t have any game. Lynda has strung him along so far because she’s flunking math and who else is better to tutor her than a boy who’s gullible enough to fall for the baby blues of her eyes?

And then, the commotion starts. A girl on the dancefloor gasps. It’s Lynda. All breathy, stunned. The surprise on her face makes her look vulnerable. Joey Mckiernan had fallen on his ass, sprawled out on the ground, holding his nose. Standing in front of him is someone Laurie didn’t expect to see. 

“Get off him, Bob!” Lynda shrieks.

The handful of teachers look towards Joey McKiernan, their star pupil, and the music cuts. The horde of highschoolers on the dancefloor wordlessly create a circle around Joey and Bob. The latter has the upper hand and the former aimlessly throws his punches in vain.

Someone whispers, “This is sad.”

Laurie thinks, This is not fair. And with it, follows frustration. It’s not his fault. He didn’t ask for this. Lynda is cruel, she’s not even standing up for him. Look at her face! Under the makeup, she is relishing the attention. Every girl wants to be fought over. 

Two male teachers break up the fight because no student intervenes. Not even the athletes who are supposed to represent the school values of justice, integrity, and unity. They’re all just watching and gloating, because if they can’t have Lynda Van der Klok, anyone who has her deserves to have their ass handed to them. 

As an afterthought, Laurie wonders if Ben Tramer would’ve done something.

By the time the two boys are separated, Bob’s glasses still sit on his face, and Joey’s glasses are broken in half on the floor. 

The dance ends an hour early. 

Annie and her boyfriend linger outside with Laurie, as the swarm of departing students thins out.

“We can drive you home,” Annie offers. 

Laurie is tempted but she knows her mother would hate that she didn't come home with Michael, for it would certainly be her fault that he didn’t pick her up, so she declines and Annie doesn’t seem too concerned for leaving her friend behind. After all, what’s there to fear in Haddonfield? Nothing happens here.

Annie leaves Laurie a gentle kiss on her cheek, steps toward her boyfriend and smiles a bright smile that scares away the darkness and disappointment that dwells in Laurie’s heart. 

“Goodnight beautiful.”

And Laurie is left alone.

Luckily, the month of September has yet to see summer’s passing otherwise she would be cold in her thin dress. Luckily, this doesn’t add to her disappointment.

She grows impatient in the absence of her brother and wonders if he had forgotten. She wouldn’t be surprised if he did. What with their interactions, what obligation did he have to her? 

The question makes Laurie’s heart well with hurt, and suddenly the anxiety takes purchase. 

From outside, Laurie sees the auditorium light turn off. The last faculty member leaves through the entrance doors, passes Laurie, but doesn’t notice her.

The parking lot is finally empty. 

The symphony of chittering crickets reminds Laurie of velvet dark and smatter of stars in mid July which bring hope of the dawn. Of nights of sneaking out of the house when her parents are asleep to the lake, skimming rocks across a black mirror which reflects twilight. Of early mornings when the sunlight has yet to rouse Haddonfield, where she waits beside her late sister’s grave with a gladiolus that matches the color of the dress she currently wears. 

It’s nights like these that call to Laurie’s heart. 

And then, Laurie starts walking. Down the road in the direction of home.


	14. September

“Where’s your big brother, Myers?”

Said Tracy Dacke, fifteen minutes after Laurie started walking on the lane which had forked off the main strip. 

That is now…

But before that, Laurie asked for nothing.

Her path home, here, it was shadowy because there weren’t any streetlights. It’s the older part of town that hasn’t been modernized yet. Laurie travels on the side of the road, on a carpet of fallen leaves. Her heels were a softened clicking. Click — click — in rapid succession. Her feet ached. Bed sounded good right now.

Then, in the gloom, several yards ahead, walking in the same direction as her, were a group of her classmates: the rowdy ones. The ones Laurie didn’t make friends with because she couldn’t if she tried. 

Troy, Billy, and Tracy. 

These were the classmates who tormented people like her - those who never ask for it yet somehow their timid, submissive natures are misinterpreted as an invitation to the worst kinds of trouble. Up until now, Tracy never exactly targeted Laurie at school because Lynda would always be around. Troy and Billy liked Lynda. Admired her. Cared about her opinion. Because, secretly, not-so secretly, the boys thought if they would be nice when she was watching, their chances of getting into her pants were higher. 

And on any school day, they would have left Laurie alone. 

But, unfortunately, Tracy hated Lynda for something as simple as envy. And by extension, hated Laurie too. At the sound of her approach, the group turns around, Tracy is the first to recognize her as easy prey with a sneer so hateful it makes rabbits go feral. 

And this rabbit swallows. Laurie doesn’t know how to respond to a question like that. Figured it’s wiser to not give them anything that they could twist back into her side. 

So, she keeps walking forward. Her gait though, has slowed. As though eggshells were under her feet. Or perhaps, something more fragile and sharp than that. And one misplaced step would cut into her soles. She’s just being careful. If she gives any indication of feeling threatened, they’ll feed off of it and taunt her and Laurie thinks that would be the most she could handle, because never has she had the misfortune to endure real pain.

Too bad, real pain would color her skin purple, snap her bones in half, draw blood from severed flesh. Real pain you can see, you can prove. Otherwise, it doesn’t count and it’s not worth telling her mom and dad because otherwise what evidence does she have against Tracy? 

It’s a huge stroke of luck that Tracy says nothing when Laurie brushes past them. 

The boys thankfully hold their tongues too. Maybe it’s because in this darkness, Billy and Troy think Laurie looks pretty with her lipstick and fluffy curls. Unlike Tracy whose nose is too pointy, her cheeks too puffy, her blonde hair too dirty. She doesn’t hold a light to Lynda…

Laurie feels a wave of flattery which fosters confidence. Her chin raises a little as she walks ahead.

And then, Tracy ruins it. 

“He’s a psycho, you know.” 

Something hurts in Laurie. Perhaps, it was the way Tracy said it. Or, it’s the knowledge that Tracy would say anything to wound her.

But, Laurie, like a fool, falls for it. She halts in her footsteps. 

Tracy is goaded and feels justified in saying,

“It wasn’t your slut sister’s boyfriend.” 

The smugness in her tone makes Laurie’s ears burn pink. 

“My dad works with the county,” Tracy continues, “And your brother’s prints were all over.”

Anger strikes fast and it doesn’t salve her hurt. In fact, this poison, Laurie takes, in the hopes that Tracy might die too. 

And with that, her fingers curl into fists.

“Look. She’s getting angry,” Tracy snaps at Troy. “She’ll rat every fucking person who cheats on a test, but when her brother knocks off her own sister, she shuts up.”

The boys stand back - they don’t want to participate. But, Tracy can’t tell this. 

“Watch her hands,” she says, “She might have a knife too. They’re all a murder fucking family.”

Laurie is very quick in stepping forward and it surprises Tracy, forcing from her, what Troy and Billy didn’t expect to see: A flinch.

Because really, Tracy is a coward who likes to project her envy of Lynda onto those who are closest to her. But, Laurie didn’t like being labeled Lynda’s friend because if this is the type of attention it lands her than she’d rather be alone. 

In the gloom, Tracy looks apprehensive in the way her body straightens out, in the way she had gravitated towards Troy and Billy, who wouldn’t bother to stop any punches thrown between Laurie and Tracy, because it’s every boy’s dream to see a cat fight.

Boys are gross. Laurie doesn’t know why they couldn’t all have ended up like Ben. 

Handsome. Charismatic. Kind. 

And dead.

Laurie meets the dull brown of Tracy’s eyes and says:

“You’re ugly.”

Billy stifles a laugh, and it’s Troy’s hand cuffed around Tracy’s flabby arm. 

“What did you say, bitch!?”

Tracy bellows, deep and nasty, so that her shrill uncontrolled voice echoes around them, but Laurie knows she’s loud because it’s a better outlet than crying in the corner. Wounded pride will inevitably result in anger. 

Laurie looks both ways before crossing the street, but as she does, Tracy has slapped Troy. It sounded like it hurt. She doesn’t see it in time, but Troy releases Tracy in surprise. The ugly girl’s impatient gait chops across the street. She is so close to Laurie. Several more steps. 

And just as Laurie looks over her shoulder, Billy shouts:

“Watch it!”

Laurie spins around, hears the engine of the car before she sees it act as a wedge between her and Tracy. In momentary shock, Tracy inches from having been hit by the vehicle, scrambles to search for the driver’s face, but the door swings open with the force of a punch and knocks her backwards. 

“Fuck,” Troy hisses. “It’s him.”

Laurie’s breath catches as Michael exits the driver’s side. He doesn’t acknowledge her, his back is to her in fact. He is angled at Tracy who scrambles backward — gasping frantically. Pussy cat— Laurie thinks. 

“Let’s get the fuck outta here Trace.”

Michael’s hand are loose at his sides. Yet, the rest of his body appears taut. Laurie can tell this, in the way she sees his shoulders, drawn back. His spine steeled. 

Billy scrambles to yank Tracy up who only whimpers as he drags her off the street. 

As the trio disappears, their escape is quick, Michael returns to the driver’s seat, and turns the headlights on.

Laurie, having no desire to walk the rest of the way home, enters the passenger seat. As soon as the door closes, the car rolls forward. She wishes she could have stayed silent the entire way, but it is only when they finally arrive home, does Laurie blurt out:

“Do you want to kill me?”

When he turns the head lamps off, she can’t see Michael’s face anymore. Not that seeing his face would give away his thoughts, but it’s always a little less nerve wracking especially in the presence of her brother. She doesn’t know what may have brought her to say it but she doesn’t receive any better an answer.

All Michael does is shut off the engine and exit the car, without chancing a glance to Laurie as he walks up to the house. 

On the other end of Haddonfield, In the cover of the trees, Troy and Billy have each a hand on Tracy’s shoulders. 

“Did you see it?”

Billy can’t see her face under the curtain of her hair. 

“See what?”

Troy grimaces. “Enough of this bullshit, man, I just want to go home.”

“Dude, obviously not, I’m not taking her home like this. What is her dad gonna think?”

“Did you see it?”

Billy and Troy quiet.

A little exasperated, Billy asks, “See what?”

Tracy doesn’t respond as quickly as the two boys may have wanted, but eventually, she does. Her voice is a certain degree of delicate which they’re unfamiliar with hearing from a girl who is usually brash and raucous. The unfamiliarity gives rise to the goosebumps pimpling their skin.

“I knew it,” Tracy whispers. “I knew it. I knew the devil exists.”


End file.
